The Cost of Mistake
by writeallnight
Summary: Grace made a mistake and it is costing her dearly. The events transpiring immediately after she is shot during "Red Bulls."


A/N: Hey there everybody! This is my first "Mentalist" fic and I'm super excited. Gosh I love Grace and Rigsby don't you? Like, please, could they just get back together already?! Anywho, I don't own anything as much as I wish I might! Enjoy!

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She was lying on the floor. It was the first thing that registered. She was lying on the floor and she couldn't move. Or breathe. Why couldn't she breathe?

"GRACE!"

Rigsby? Why was he screaming her name? Oh, now she remembered. She'd been shot. Damn it.

The world came sharply into focus as Rigsby fell to his knees beside her. She finally managed to suck in a breath and then wished she hadn't. It HURT. Rigsby was talking to her, telling her what to do. What the heck was wrong with him? There was a suspect on the loose!

"You're okay, just breathe," he said as his hands pressed against her vest, searching for any sign a bullet had made it past the kevlar. "I can't see any blood."

Grace had never been shot before, but she was pretty sure if anything had managed to penetrate her vest the pain would be a lot worse. "Ugh," she groaned, trying to get the words out. "The vest took it. Go, go, go, go, go."

He didn't want to leave her, she could see it in his eyes, but there was protocol to be followed. He rose reluctantly and went through the apartment and out the window.

Grace lay on the floor for several minutes just focusing on getting air into her lungs before the sound of a door opening made her realize she needed to get up. The movement caused pain to go shooting through her chest. She fell back to the floor her head spinning. "Ow," she gasped, a hand going to her ribcage. Tears pricked at her eyes, partly from pain, partly from anger that this had happened. How could she have been so stupid? She'd made a mistake, a big one, and now she was paying for it. And Rigsby and Hicks might be too.

Her breathing grew labored, each gasp a painful effort. She could feel consciousness slipping from her grasp and she was tempted to let it take her away from the pain that grew with every second.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours that she lay there only partially aware of her surroundings. Pounding footsteps caused her to stir and she opened her eyes to find Rigsby looking down at her.

"Grace," he said softly.

She tried to smile at him to show him she was all right. He put his hands on her cheeks, his eyes full of worry. "Stay with me. Paramedics will be here any second."

"Did you catch her?" she croaked out. "What happened?"

"Shh…" he brushed a strand of hair gently from her face. "Just stay still, all right?"

Her legs shook as adrenaline coursed through her body. All the fear from the moment she'd seen the gun, known she couldn't stop what was coming, came rushing back. "Could you hold my hand?" she asked him weakly.

He reached for it immediately, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

"Rigsby?" It was Hicks calling.

"Yeah, we're here!" Rigsby called back.

Two paramedics trouped down the hallway. "Carter Davis," the first one introduced himself. "This is my partner Alan Spencer."

"Rigsby," the older agent introduced himself. "This is Special Agent Grace VanPelt. She took three rounds to the chest.

"How are you feeling Agent?" Davis asked.

"Call me Grace," she gasped.

"Okay, Grace, we're going to make you feel a whole lot better. Just relax."

"Rigsby, your team is here," Hicks called.

"Go, I'll be all right," Grace told him through gritted teeth.

He squeezed her hand and went with Hicks. Grace's eyes followed him down the hall.

"Okay Grace, we're going to have to get this vest off so we can take a better look. It's probably going to be pretty uncomfortable," Spencer told her.

"We're going to have to get you all the way up," Davis explained. "Don't try and help. We'll do all the work all right?"

She nodded, bracing herself. "One, two, three."

Tears filled her eyes and she couldn't stifle the agonized sounds coming from her lips as they removed her vest. "You're doing great, Grace," Chung told her. "Just keep breathing."

Moving to the gurney nearly caused her to pass out despite the pain meds they had started flowing through her system. "Sorry," Davis told her sympathetically. "I know it hurts. We're going to take you in. You've definitely got some broken ribs here. The good news is that kevlar did its work. Probably saved your life. Three rounds to center mass is no laughing matter."

"You're not kidding," Grace managed.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here."

The next few hours were a painful blur for the agent. There were x-rays, and needles, and people poking and prodding at her. And there was a lot of time spent alone, in a cold exam room, waiting. Which meant a lot of time for Grace to think about what had happened over, and over, replaying every detail, looking for where she had gone wrong. If only she'd realized on their initial contact that the woman was not what she'd seemed. If only she'd seen her going for the gun and shot first. It was enough to make her exhausted.

When the doctor finally appeared to talk with her the news was not what she'd hoped for. Her injuries were not life threatening, but they were going to keep her overnight for observation. It meant more waiting, more time alone, more thinking.

It was late, the hospital dark and quiet. Grace was dozing, the pain in her ribs making it difficult to get comfortable. The clock said 1:12 when she opened her eyes to find Rigsby sitting beside her bed, flowers in hand.

"Hey," she said softly.

He looked up and smiled. "Hey."

"How'd you get in here?" she asked. "Visiting hours are over."

"I'm a CBI agent, Grace. I can get in anywhere." He reached for her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore. Three cracked ribs," she winced as she tried to sit up and he immediately moved to help her. "Thanks. Two weeks bed rest and another two of desk duty."

"A month, that's not bad," he replied.

"Yeah."

He looked around the room. "You've got enough flowers in here to start your own shop."

She smiled. "Those are from Lisbon," she told him, indicating a bouquet of sunflowers. "These are from Cho, the Chief, and those," she pointed to a huge bouquet of pink gerbera daises, "are from Jane."

Rigsby looked at the bouquet of pink gerberas in his own hand. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised Jane knows your favorite."

"There's very little about Jane that surprises me anymore," she told him with a laugh and then a moan. "Ow."

Tears sprang to her eyes involuntarily, the stress of the day and the pain in her body finally getting the best of her.

Rigsby came to sit on the edge of the bed. "Look at me. Just breathe," he put his hands on her cheeks. "Do you want me to get the nurse?"

"No," she gasped, as tears flowed down her cheeks. "Could you just hold me? Please?"

He moved to put his arms around her as carefully as he could. She leaned her head against his chest, gripping his shirt as she cried.

"I was so scared today," she finally got out. "When she was pointing that gun at me, and there wasn't a thing I could do. I'm a cop, I shouldn't be scared."

"Shh…" Rigsby comforted her. "I'm here. There's nothing to be scared of now."

She clung to him desperately. "Don't leave me. Please don't ever leave me."

"I'm not leaving. I'll be right here," he smoothed her hair. "Just close your eyes."

Grace did as she was told, her breathing gradually easing as she fell asleep in his arms. Rigsby held her as tightly as he dared, almost afraid that if he let go he might lose her forever. It was several more hours before he fell into an exhausted slumber.

Grace was released from the hospital around 10:00 the next morning with a prescription for pain medication and a follow-up visit scheduled for the next week. Rigsby drove her home and helped her into the apartment. Grace groaned as she lowered her body onto the couch. "I am never letting this happen again."

"Good because I don't think I could take it." Rigsby gave her a kiss on the forehead. "How about some breakfast to go with your pain meds?"

"No, no you have to get to work," she protested, wincing as she tried to make herself more comfortable.

"I called in sick," he told her as he started the coffee maker.

"What? Wayne you can't do that! What if they get suspicious?"

He sat next to her. "Honestly Grace, I really don't care about that right now. You're more important to me than any job. I'm not sure you understand how badly you scared me," he paused and gripped her hands. "I thought, for a second, that you were dead, Grace. That's not something I ever want to feel again. I love you Grace. You have no idea how much."

She reached up and touched his face. "I love you too. I'm sorry I didn't say it in the ambulance."

"It's okay," he told her.

"No, it's not." She searched for the right words. "I do love you Wayne. It's just that I've said those words before and this time…I promised myself I wouldn't say them until I meant them. And I wanted that moment to be perfect. In the back of that ambulance…it wasn't perfect."

"No it definitely wasn't," he said with a smile. "Why don't you take a nap while I make you some breakfast?"

"Okay."

They spent the day together watching movies and eating ice cream; cookie dough for her, coffee for Rigsby.

"Seriously, I read on the internet that it helps with broken ribs," he teased her. "Something about the cream and the cold."

"You're ridiculous," Grace told him with a grin.

There was a knock on the door and they both froze. "Grace? It's Jane! I came by to check on you."

Grace looked at Rigsby, her eyes wide with horror. "Hide! Go!" she told him.

He flew off the couch as Grace struggled to get up, stifling cries of pain as her ribs protested.

"Grace?" Jane called again.

" Coming!" she called. "Get the bowls!"

Rigsby doubled back to grab them and threw them in the sink. "Where do I hide?" he whispered as he turned in a circle looking for a good location.

"Seriously?!" she hissed incredulously as she threw his shoes into her bedroom and closed the door.

He looked around for a spot big enough for his large frame and finally decided on the pantry. Grace waited until he had the door closed before letting Jane in. "Hi Jane."

"Hello Grace," Jane said, stepping inside. "I came by to see how you're feeling. You look much better."

"Yeah I feel a lot better," Grace told him. "It's amazing what a little rest and some expensive pain medication can do."

"Very true," he replied.

"Thank you so much for the flowers," Grace said. "They're beautiful."

"I thought you'd like them. I know the pink ones are your favorite," he looked around the apartment. "Would you have the makings of a cup of tea?"

"Sure," Grace started to go but he stopped her.

"No, you're injured, I'll take care of it. Go have a seat. Would you like a cup?" he asked.

"That would be great. There's tea in the tin on the counter," she glanced toward the pantry nervously as Jane moved into the kitchen.

He prepared the tea chatting away, Grace only just keeping up with the conversation, sure that at any moment he was going to discover Rigsby's hiding place.

Jane drank all of his tea as Grace sipped at hers, filling her in on the day's happenings at the office. At last he rose. "Well, I'd better be going. Thank you very much for the tea. We should do this more often."

"Yeah we should," Grace said.

He took his cup and saucer to the sink. "Do you mind if I grab a cookie for the road? I skipped lunch."

He walked toward the pantry. "No!" Grace stood up fast and then groaned, a hand going to her ribs. "Ow."

"Are you all right?" Jane asked.

"Yes, I just have to remember not to move," she told him through gritted teeth. "I don't have any cookies right now. Meant to go to the grocery store yesterday after work."

"Not a problem," Jane told her. "I'll just be going then. You're sure you're all right?"

Grace exhaled slowly. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for coming by."

Jane put his hand on the doorknob. "Next time I stop by you'll have to give me a tour," he told her. "Starting with the pantry."

He flashed her a cheeky smile and was gone.

Rigsby opened the pantry door and went immediately to Grace. "Are you all right?" he asked helping her back onto the couch.

"Yeah," her face was pale, "I'll be fine. Don't look so worried."

He managed a smile. "So…do you think he knows?"

Grace sighed. "It's Jane. He knows everything," she looked up at him. "Do you think he'll tell?"

"No." Rigsby put his arm around her. "He's got his own brand of justice. You know he's been rooting for us from the beginning."

"Good," Grace snuggled closer to him. "Because I'm really not ready to give you up yet."

He kissed her. "I'll be here as long as you want me."

She looked up at him. "Promise?"

"Promise."

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A/N: So...what did you think? Good? Bad? Something in between? Let me know so I can make the next one better!


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